Beyond Death
by Gemini14
Summary: (AU) When an ancient prophecy is spoken, would the one involved be able to handle fulfilling it? What is his place in a world that no longer knows him? (rewrite of 'From Death to Life Again').
1. Prologue

Beyond Death

Prologue

The halls of the oracles were silent as a lone soldier walked through them, his footsteps echoing as he did.

"_Welcome, young soldier. It isn't often that I get visitors anymore._" A soft, feminine voice murmured.

"These are hard times, milady, and they seem fated to get harder still." The soldier said, as he came and stood before the oracle. The oracle herself was a pale, delicate High elf maiden, whose long flaxen hair appeared white in the sunlight that was filtering through some overhead windows. Across her pale brow seven mithril beads hung on a circlet, and the dress she wore was the color of the mallorn trees' blossoms.

"_Very true. So, Herendil, why have you sought me out?_" the oracle asked, fixing the soldier with an ethereal gaze. The soldier, Herendil, stood where he was in shock. He had heard that the oracle knew all, but he never experienced anything like this!

"I need to know, milady, if the Dark Lord will be overthrown. I feel that an ill omen hangs over me and the troop I have joined. My brothers feel the same way." Herendil said, respectfully.

"_So you have come to me to clarify what you are feeling?_" the oracle asked.

"Yes, milady." Herendil murmured, as he kneeled before her, ready for her next words. The Elven oracle sighed and closed her eyes, slipping into a trance. As Herendil watched, the oracle began to glow, softly at first, then with the brilliance of a silmaril, forcing him to shield his eyes. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the glow was gone.

"_Herendil, of the army of Gil-galad, I have asked the Valar for clarity, and this is the answer they have given. Behold, one who has touched the Ring and gone into death, shall rise again, and he shall see things no elf of this time other than he shall see._" The oracle said, quietly.

"But what does it mean? What does it have to do with the coming battle?" Herendil asked, very confused by this.

"_That is all I can tell you, Herendil. I am sorry I cannot tell you more._" The oracle said, gently.

"Thank you for your time, milady." Herendil murmured, as he stood, bowed, then went out the way he'd come in. Little did he realize that the moment he'd turned his back to the oracle, a single tear slid down her cheek, and it glittered with the light of the emerging stars before falling to the ground.

Weeks later found Herendil on the march to Mordor. He was marching alongside his elder brother Erundur, and just behind the King Gil-galad's Herald, Elrond of Imladris.

"Erundur, why do humans have so many cheerful marching songs, while we have hymns to the Valar and Elbereth?" a youthful voice asked, from behind. 

"It's because humans get depressed and discouraged very easily, Tirinvo. They need those songs to keep their spirits up." Herendil replied, much to the chagrin of Erundur.

"Oh." Tirinvo said, as the singing of the human soldiers drifted over the sounds of marching feet and clanking armor.

"You know, for humans, their singing isn't half bad. It's the bar songs I don't understand." Another elf said, getting some chuckles for that comment.

"What's to understand? When you're drunk, your emotions are released from the usual constraints." Erundur said, casually.

"You say that as though you've been drunk yourself, Erundur. Wait till mother hears about that!" Herendil said, with a laugh.

"Herendil, if the Dark Lord doesn't kill you, I will." Erundur grumbled. Elrond rolled his eyes as more playful banter passed between the brothers, but stopped when Gil-galad himself chuckled and shook his head.

"Let them be, Elrond. There's no harm to them lightening their own mood this way. They are, after all, still so very young." Gil-galad said, wisely, smirking when Herendil muttered something about 'orc-breath', to which Erundur answered with 'troll-dung'.

"Indeed. Let's just hope they both live to become wiser. Troll-dung, honestly!" Elrond muttered, shaking his head as Gil-galad let out a laugh, and the three bickering elves behind them quieted, blushing since they had been heard by their superiors.

Less than two days later, they were on the battlefield. Despite his attempts to appear cool and calm, Herendil's heart was racing. This was it; this would be the final battle. He'd survived until this point, and knew that with the end of this battle, he would be going home. He could hear the horrible screams of the orcs, and remembered what his parents had told him and his brothers, all those years ago; _they were elves once_. 

"_I don't want to end up like them! Please, Valar high above, don't let that fate befall me! Nor my brothers, for that matter!_" Herendil thought, as he readied his bow.

"**_Tangado haid leitho I philion! _**(_Hold your positions! Fire the arrows!_)" Elrond shouted, as thousands upon thousands of orcs charged at them, with bloodlust in their eyes. With the twanging of over a thousand bows, the arrows left their homes, and imbedded themselves in their targets. But still the mass came. Again and again the Elven archers fired into the mass, and the mass advanced, unchecked. When the orcs were too close for arrows to be very effective, the elves reached for their staves and, in one fluid movement, whipped them out. Herendil panted as he fought off the orcs that were coming at him. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see men and elves struggling side by side. Hours went by like minutes, and there seemed no end to the orcs that were pouring out of Mordor. Then the battlefield went silent, and a dark shape appeared before the armies of elves and men. To the horror of all around, it was the Dark Lord himself! His gigantic frame was clothed in black armor, and he reeked of blood, death, and indescribable evil. In his hands, he carried an immense mace, that was engraved with spells that would destroy Elves on contact. For a moment, Herendil was frozen, then he noticed that Elrond was in the line of fire, and he did something no other elf would even think of doing; he charged straight at the Dark Lord! He didn't hear the startled cries of the elves or men, nor did he notice the Dark Lord's momentary faltering step backwards; just what was this crazy elf doing?! With a scream, Herendil leaped up and tried to grab onto the swinging arm for the mace, grimacing when his right hand met the white-hot metal of the ring the Dark Lord wore on his massive finger. Before the smell of burned flesh and the pain of the burn could reach him, Herendil was treated to a different kind of pain; the pain of having the end of the mace shoved into his chest. He gagged when he felt his breastbone shatter from the impact, and fell with a crash into some men. Faintly, Herendil could hear the sounds of elves and men being bashed aside with the mace, then he heard the sound of Elrond's voice, commanding the remaining elves to renew the attack. As his vision faded, Herendil took in the sights around him; the men who were kneeling beside him, helplessly trying to make him as comfortable as possible in his final moments. He also saw that there were some men gathered into a circle around him, trying to protect this brave and foolish elf who had tried to fend off the Dark Lord all by himself. With a painful effort, Herendil looked up into the eyes of the men who were tearfully tending to him and smiled.

"Tell Lord Elrond…………………and King Gil-galad…………………that I tried…………..Thank you, my friends………….." Herendil whispered, as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he closed his eyes. He didn't hear the final mournful cry of the man who held him, nor did he hear the final roar of the Dark Lord, as his ring was sundered from his body. As Herendil's body went limp, his burned hand fell from his chest to his side, revealing part of the inscription of the ring; _One Ring to bring them all_. 


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Night was falling on the place known as the Dead Marshes. Less than a few hours before, two hobbits and their guide had traveled through, hurrying on an important mission. For the first time in a little over two thousand years, the silence of the Marshes was disturbed. But then the silence returned, and the barrows went back to what they normally did when there was no life around; waiting. Yet, in one pool, something unusual was happening; in one of the submerged corpses, the heart was beginning to move again. As time wore on, the pulse got steadily stronger, and more signs of life began to emerge. Fingers twitched, legs bent and straightened, and, like a sleeper reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, the formerly dead soldier reached up to touch his face. Before he could get his right arm very far, however, a shockwave of pain jolted through him, from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips. He went to take a gasp of air, but instead found that water surrounded him!

"_Water?! Where am I?!_" the soldier thought, as he frantically burst from through the surface of the fetid water, coughing and gagging as water was expelled from his lungs. With much effort, the soldier pulled himself onto one of the few dry patches of land in the Marshes and lay there for a few moments, shuddering in pain and gasping for air. When he was able to breathe normally again, he took a look around. Confusion clouded his crystalline blue eyes as he took in the land around him.

"Where am I? How did I end up here?" the soldier asked, but knew that he was never going to get an answer. He tensed when he heard a scream far off in the distance and felt for his weapons, thankful when he came upon his sword and stave. 

"_Now where did my bow and arrows get to? Ah, no matter. I wouldn't be able to use them even if I had them, considering how my right arm is now useless._" The soldier mused, as he looked at his lifeless right arm.

"But the Dark Lord had hit me in the chest. How is it that only my right arm is affected?" the soldier murmured, but looked for his weapons anyway. He nearly vomited when he saw that there were bodies floating in the same water he'd just emerged from. Shuddering in revulsion, the soldier went in and retrieved his bow and arrows, anyway. Amazingly enough, the wood of the bow and arrows were unaffected by the water, and, when dried, the soldier assumed they would be as good as new.

"Might as well get going. I don't like the feel of this place at all." The soldier muttered, as he started limping away, using his stave as a crutch. He gritted his teeth with every step he took, wincing as lancing pain shot through his battered body. Yet, with determination he didn't even know he had, the soldier found his way out of the Marshes and into the Emyn Muil, where he decided he had to finally stop. With exhaustion and cold taking hold of him, he found his strength waning fast. 

"_Valar above! It hurts!_" the soldier thought, as he sat against a flat-faced boulder and held his shoulder with his good hand, tears of pain mingling with the sweat and marsh water on his face. He must have been sobbing in pain as well, because something moved towards him. Subconsciously, the soldier unsheathed his sword with his left hand and tried to stand, yelping when he moved too quickly, and ending up dropping his sword in the process. 

"You look quite the mess, sir elf. What happened to your arm?" a kindly voice asked, as the owner himself stepped towards the soldier.

"T-the Dark Lord hurt it somehow………….sir." the soldier replied, somehow trusting the stranger enough to let him get close and inspect the arm.

"Hmm?……….Ah, it's been dislocated." The stranger said, then grasped the arm firmly, and popped it back into place, getting a scream of pain from the elf soldier as he did so. Feeling his consciousness slipping, the soldier fell back, only to be caught by the stranger's gentle arms.

"Rest easy, now. I can see that you are indeed alive. Had you not felt that, then I would have been convinced that you were still a barrow. Don't worry, I will remain with you while you sleep." the stranger said, reassuringly.

"Who……………..are you?" the soldier asked, his vision still swimming from the sudden pain.

"I am known as Gandalf. Rest now, we will talk later." The stranger said, then whispered a spell that sent the soldier into the realm of dreamless sleep, so he could set to work healing the remaining injuries.

Hours later, the soldier awoke, once again disoriented. His mind was muddled with sleep and the confusion of finding himself once again in unfamiliar surroundings.

"Good morning, sir elf." A voice said, as the owner appeared before him.

"G-good morning, sir." The soldier stammered, when he saw the wizard's staff the stranger known as Gandalf carried.

"No need to be so formal. Just Gandalf will do." Gandalf said, in what seemed to the Elven soldier very uncharacteristic nonchalance.

"Then I suppose it would be proper to tell you my name, good wizard. My name is Herendil, a soldier of King Gil-galad's army. But I suppose it has been destroyed already, so I am all that remains. An army of one, so to speak." The soldier said, with a little humor in his voice.

"Herendil is your name, eh? You are a talkative one, I'll give you that. Where do you intend to go dressed like that?" Gandalf asked, as he pointed at the armor Herendil was wearing. 

"I don't………………….know…………….?!" Herendil trailed off when he saw that his armor was now completely clean and sparkled in the sun, and that he himself was clean and devoid of the Marsh's momentos. 

"Your weapons are clean and ready for use as well. I took the liberty of doing all that after I had finished taking care of your wounds. But I noticed that there was one wound I couldn't heal. It's in the palm of your right hand." Gandalf said, as Herendil looked at his hand curiously. In it he could see what appeared to be a curved burn scar, and in the scar itself were letters. Elvish letters. 

"One Ring to bring them all? What does that mean?" Herendil asked, confused.

"It's part of the inscription that is on the Ring of Power. How had you gotten close enough to get that scar?" Gandalf asked, curious as to how the elf had managed it.

"I tried to prevent the Dark Lord from swinging his mace and hitting Lord Elrond. My hand just happened to meet the metal of the ring for a brief moment. Tell me, Gandalf, does Elrond yet live? Or did he perish in Dagorlad?" Herendil asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Oh, he's very much alive and well. In fact, he's the one that organized the Fellowship of the Ring………………but, then again, I don't expect you to know about that." Gandalf said, as confusion once again made its presence known on Herendil's face.

"How much has this world changed, Gandalf? What is my place in it?" Herendil asked, as some distress replaced the confusion. 

"We will soon see. Can you stand? We have a lot of traveling to do, and not a lot of time to do it in." Gandalf said, as he set about putting out the campfire. Without saying a word, Herendil made an attempt to stand, leaning heavily against the boulder when he'd found that his legs were still a bit shaky.

"That's all right. You'll regain your strength in time." Gandalf reassured, as a white stallion and another, darker horse approached.

"So, I get to ride from here? I walked into Dagorlad, and a long time after, I ride out? This will be quite a story to tell my brothers……………..if they still live." Herendil murmured, as he mounted (with some difficulty), and Gandalf did the same. Within moments, they were riding hard over the countryside.

"Gandalf, where are we going?" Herendil asked, as the wind whipped his hair around.

"Rohan. We are heading to Rohan to meet some friends." Gandalf replied, enigmatically.

"Who are these friends we're going to meet?" Herendil asked, again.

"Just wait and see, my good elf. Just wait and see." Gandalf said, and the ride continued in silence. Soon, they could see the rolling fields of Rohan, and the beginning of Fangorn Forest.

"Fangorn…………………..there were so many stories about this place………..Were the stories true, Gandalf?" Herendil asked.

"Come with me, and see for yourself." Gandalf said, with a smile. After dismounting, and whispering a thanks to his steed, Herendil followed the wizard into the shadowy world that was Fangorn Forest. Almost as soon as he'd set foot into the forest, Herendil could feel the anger of the trees themselves.

"Something has angered them. I can feel it in the air; it's heavy, like before a thunderstorm." Herendil murmured, as his ears twitched, catching the whispers of the trees.

"Haroom! Who is it that comes in here now?" an irritated voice asked, causing Herendil to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Such a welcome, Treebeard! Surely my presence and that of an elf isn't such an offense!" Gandalf said, boldly.

"Gandalf? Is that you? I hardly recognized you with those white robes!" Treebeard said, as he stepped towards them, smiling when he saw the look of awe on Herendil's face.

"The stories are true…………….the Ents still roam these woods as they did so long ago!" Herendil muttered, finding himself unable to stop the grin that was appearing on his face.

"It's been long since I last saw any elves in this forest! Seeing him here makes me feel young again, haroom!" Treebeard said, equally as pleased.

"Treebeard, getting straight to the point, if you see any hobbits, or halflings, bring them directly to me." Gandalf said, getting a nod from the great leafy head of the Ent.

"I will do that. So, tell me, elf, what is your name?" Treebeard asked.

"My name is Herendil. It is an honor to meet you, Treebeard, sir." Herendil said, respectfully. With a nod, Treebeard smiled, then started leading them to where they could rest, and wait for the hobbits.

"Gandalf, why are we waiting here for the hobbits? Wouldn't we have had better luck meeting some if we had gone to the river?" Herendil asked, confused by the wizard's reasoning.

"There were four hobbits that accompanied the Fellowship when it left Rivendell. Two of them are probably well on their way to Mordor, and the other two are being carried to Isengard. Knowing how resourceful and hardy hobbits are, they will probably escape from their captors and run in here." Gandalf said, as he sat down on a tree stump to wait. Herendil did the same, but, after an hour, found it hard to remain awake. 

"Are you tired, Herendil?" Gandalf asked, as he placed a hand on the elf's shoulder.

"Yes. But I am afraid to sleep, for fear that I might find myself back in the marshes." Herendil murmured, honestly. Gandalf nodded in understanding.

"Don't worry. Rest now, while there is still time. When you wake, you will still be here." Gandalf promised, his words seeming to have a magical effect on the elf, for no sooner had he spoken those words, did Herendil slip into the trance-like state elves were known to go into when they slept. When Herendil next awoke, he was relieved to see that he was still in Fangorn Forest, and a little surprised to hear two more voices in the glen Gandalf had chosen to wait in. 

"Gandalf? Are these the hobbits we were waiting for?" Herendil asked, as he looked down on the small, startled faces of the hobbits.

"Yes, indeed they are. This is Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, otherwise known as Merry and Pippin." Gandalf said, introducing the elf to the hobbits.

"Hello and well met." Herendil greeted, smiling when the hobbits smiled back at him.

"Hullo to you too, sir! Did we wake you?" one asked.

"No. You didn't wake me. It was just time for me to wake up, anyway." Herendil said, warmly. Just by looking at these two simple hobbits, Herendil was reminded of how he and Tirinvo had been when they were young. He sighed; how long ago that seemed!

"Herendil, you haven't introduced yourself yet." Gandalf reminded. Herendil gave the hobbits an embarrassed look.

"Forgive me for being so rude! I am Herendil, formerly of King Gil-Galad's army." Herendil said, watching as look of awe took over the hobbits' faces.

"We've heard stories about an elf named Herendil! Tragic stories about how he died valiantly on the Battle Plain." Pippin blurted, before realizing what he was saying.

"But if he's Herendil then that would make him a ghost, wouldn't it?" Merry asked, as looks of doubt clouded his features.

"Or a Barrow-wight!" Pippin yelped, suddenly realizing what the implications could be if the real Herendil was standing before them.

"I can assure you that he is neither. He is very much alive, and has an important role to play in this war." Gandalf said, reassuringly.

"What about us?" Merry asked, "Do we still have a part to play?" 

"No. Your part in this is over." Gandalf replied, then looked up at Treebeard, who stood by, silently listening.

"Treebeard, if you will, keep and eye on them for me. Keep them safe." Gandalf said, as he stood before the Ent. Treebeard nodded slowly.

"I will keep them safe, Gandalf." Treebeard promised, then scooped the hobbits up and placed them on his leafy shoulders. Within moments, the Ent had disappeared into the forest, leaving Herendil and Gandalf in comfortable silence. Well, it seemed comfortable to Gandalf, but Herendil's mind was in turmoil; what had Pippin meant when he'd said that there were stories about him?!

"Gandalf, what had that young halfling meant?" Herendil asked, when they had both sat back down.

"About what?" Gandalf asked, as he pulled out his pipe and lit it.

"About the stories that halfling had mentioned. Were there really stories taken back to my home about my death?" Herendil asked, worried about what his parents and brothers might have heard. Gandalf gave him a somber look.

"I am afraid so. The men who watched you die, and buried you, took the news to your family. But I have no idea who had spread the tales the hobbits have obviously heard." Gandalf said, as they both sank into contemplative silence. A few hours later, the silence was broken again. When the culprits arrived on the scene, Herendil only had enough time to blink before an arrow was deflected and a sword was made too hot to handle.

"A little while ago, two hobbits ran into these woods. They ran into someone they did not expect." Gandalf intoned, while he glowed as brightly as a silmaril.

"_Just like that time with the Oracle!_" Herendil thought, awed by the sight.

"Who are you?" one culprit, a man with dark hair and grey eyes, asked, suspiciously. Gandalf didn't reply, but he allowed the light to fade, so the three in front of him could look at him without being blinded. The trio, which consisted of the man, an elf, and a dwarf, stood and stared in shock and wonder at the wizard, not knowing whether to bow, or run up and grasp the wizard's arms in greeting.

"Gandalf, who are these three? Are they also members of the Fellowship Lord Elrond had put together?" Herendil asked, quietly. Gandalf turned and smiled at him.

"They are indeed. The man is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur. The elf is Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood. And the dwarf is Gimli, son of Gloin." Gandalf said, introducing each of the three.

"Then I suppose I should properly introduce myself. I am Herendil, son of Namorimbo." Herendil said, then watched as looks of shock crossed the features of the three.

"And no, I am not a ghost or a Barrow-wight." Herendil added, with a deadpan expression on his face when he thought that their thoughts were heading that way. It was Legolas who spoke first.

"There has been much said about you in stories, Lord Herendil. You did what no other elf would and Middle Earth remembers you for that. Maybe that is why the Valar saw fit to send you back, in this, our darkest hour." Legolas said, speaking eloquently what even a wizard could not. Herendil's eyes widened for a moment, then he lowered his head, looking quite humble.

"There is no need to call me 'Lord', Prince Legolas, when it is I who should be subservient to you. What I did was something even my peers would have called foolish, but I had to do it. Lord Elrond had to live." Herendil said, modestly, starting when the dwarf grinned and gave him a hearty handshake and slap on the back.

"Laddie, think of it this way, you're here because of your courage. And your courage is needed most right now! What better way to show people courage than to have the epitome of it right in their midst!" Gimli said, getting a look of surprise from the Elven soldier. Then he gave Aragorn a semi-accusing look.

"All right, what have humans been saying about me while I was 'away'?" Herendil asked, with a somewhat skeptical look in his cool blue eyes. Aragorn only smiled wryly at him. 

"Should I start with the earliest stories? Or maybe even the ballads?" Aragorn asked, sounding almost as though he were taking song requests, instead of answering Herendil's question. Herendil glared at him.

"_If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this is Erundur in human skin!_" Herendil thought, as Aragorn continued to smirk, and they followed Gandalf out of the forest.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Herendil watched and listened as Gandalf called the horses to him. With a longing look back, Herendil gazed back into the cool depths of Fangorn Forest, not favoring the idea of leaving.

"Herendil?" Aragorn asked, startling the pensive elf.

"Yes, Lord Aragorn?" Herendil replied, wondering what the man had to say.

"It's time to go." Aragorn said, ignoring the added 'lord' to his name, for the moment, anyway. Herendil reluctantly nodded and mounted. Within moments, they were galloping across the rolling plains towards Edoras, the capital of Rohan. Legolas watched as emotions he had only seen in Frodo, came to light on Herendil's face. 

"_He has no idea what is in store for him. He has awakened from two thousand years of death just to enter into a time where hope is dwindling, and the Shadow is everywhere. I can only hope, for his sake, that when this is over, he will be able to find his family._" Legolas thought, drawing rein when Gandalf silently motioned for them to. Herendil looked up and around as the sights and sounds of Rohan came to his ears; the distant thundering of hooves upon the earth, the sound of armor and weapons clanking as riders rode on their loyal mounts. But what chilled the resurrected elf was the fact that barely a whisper of sound came from within the capital itself. 

"Like a mountain pass before an avalanche." Herendil murmured, surprised when he got a collective groan from his four companions.

"Don't even mention avalanches, laddie!" Gimli hissed, getting a look of confusion from Herendil.

"I don't understand, but I won't mention them anymore." Herendil promised, smiling somewhat at the reprieve they'd been given from the more pressing situation at hand. They then carefully approached the Golden Hall, following Gandalf to the gates (of course, by now, Gandalf was covering his white robes with the tattered remains of his old cloak). There they were met by men in armor, who, when they laid eyes on them, quickly stood and barred their way.

"Stay strangers here unknown!" the men said, as they directed looks of wonder and ill-humor at them. 

"Well do I understand your speech, yet few strangers do. Why do you not speak the Common Tongue, if you wish to be answered?" Gandalf asked, as Herendil gave the men a cautious look, not wishing to become a dead elf again.

"_I don't think the Valar would bring me back to life a second time._" Herendil thought, grimly, and listened as the men of Rohan gave their answer to Gandalf. He listened as they demanded an explanation as to how and why they came to have the horses, especially Shadowfax and who had delivered the decree that none save Rohan's own should enter into Edoras. 

"Wormtongue? Say no more! My errand is not to Wormtongue, but to the Lord of the Mark himself. I am in haste. Will you not go or send to say that we are come?" Gandalf asked, giving the guard a look that was as sharp as the stave Herendil carried. 

"Yes, I will go. But what names shall I report? What shall I say of you? You seem old and weary, but you seem to hide great power." the guard asked, in turn, as he looked at Gandalf closely, then glanced at Herendil, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn.

"You see as well as you speak, for I am Gandalf. And here beside me is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of kings. Here also are Legolas and Gimli, our comrades. Last but not least, is the elf who would see what no other elf of his time would see, Herendil, son of Namorimbo, of the late army of the Elven king, Gil-galad. Go now and tell your master that we are at the gates and would have speech with him, if he will allow us to enter his hall." Gandalf said, not noticing the blanched face of the guard before him, nor the thoroughly embarrassed look of Herendil behind him.

"Strange names you give, indeed! But I will report them as you bid, and see what my master says. Wait here for a moment, and I will bring you the answer he gives." The guard said, then added, "Do not hope too much, for these are dark days." 

"Gandalf, did you really have to say all that about me? Now these men probably think the same thing the hobbits thought when they first learned who I was!" Herendil said, with some apprehension appearing on his face. 

"He wanted to know who each of us were, and I gave him your name as well." Gandalf replied, with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice.

"Still, you didn't have to say that I had come from the army of King Gil-galad." Herendil muttered, feeling a little betrayed and put off by having his identity revealed so easily.

"Herendil, it is fairly easy to tell what army you were originally from, since your armor is not what elves wear today." Aragorn said, chuckling at the somewhat chagrined look on Herendil's face.

"Be that as it may, Lord Aragorn, I still do not like having my name so freely spoken, especially since I am supposed to be dead, at any rate." Herendil said, sharply.

"Yet you are here, laddie. You can't argue with that fact." Gimli as he eyed the men at the gate, who were trying to appear as though they weren't listening to the conversation. After a few moments, the guard returned and had them follow him in.

"Theoden gives you leave to enter, but he bids you to leave any weapon, even if it be only a staff, at the door. The doorwardens will watch them." The guard said, as the gates were swung open, and they rode in. As they followed the guard, Herendil looked over his weapons with some dismay in his eyes. 

"Here I am, armed to the teeth, and they expect me to leave all of it at the door? I might as well strip myself of my chain mail and metal bucklers as well!" Herendil muttered, moodily, ears drooping at the thought.

"You won't have to go that far, Master Herendil. Just leave the stave, bow, arrows, and sword at the door." The guard said, hoping he could calm the elf's slowly rising temper.

"These weapons are all the earthly possessions I have at the moment. Will I be getting them back?" Herendil asked, disparagingly.

"I'm sure you will. It's so strange………actually talking to someone who, only yesterday, was just another legend. Just another story that was told around the hearth." The guard said, reverently.

"I find it strange that there are any stories at all about me. I certainly didn't see any of this coming!" Herendil admitted. Finally, they came at length to the doors of Meduseld, the Golden Hall.

"There are the doors before you. I must return to my post. Farewell, and may the Lord of the Mark be gracious to you!" the guard said, as he reluctantly returned to his post, giving Herendil a parting glance as he did so. 

"Hail, comers from afar!" the watchmen of the Hall said, in greeting, as one of their number stepped forward. At this, Gandalf gave the signal to dismount.

"I am the Doorward of Theoden, and my name is Hama. Here I must bid you to lay aside your weapons before you enter." The watchman said, with some authority in his voice. With much reluctance on their part, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf lay their weapons at the door. At last attention was turned to Herendil.

"Now you." Hama said, looking somewhat amused at the embarrassed look he got from Herendil.

"I do apologize." Herendil said, as he handed his stave, sword, bow and arrows to Hama, and watched as Hama staggered back in surprise.

"How could you carry all of this and not be burdened by it all?!" Hama asked, when he'd carefully laid the weapons beside all of the rest at the door.

"Good training, I suppose." Herendil replied, with a shrug, giving his companions an unreadable look when they chuckled at his expense. Then Hama turned back to Gandalf.

"Your staff." Hama said. This got a false look of hurt from Gandalf.

"Oh, surely you will not deprive an old man of his walking stick?" Gandalf asked, his eyes twinkling as Herendil smirked at that. Reluctantly, Hama agreed to let them go in, and Gandalf got to keep his staff with him. The moment they entered the Golden Hall, Herendil shuddered.

"This place has such an oppressive air! I have not felt the like since I first entered the lands to the east." Herendil murmured, subdued by the weight of despair in the fabled hall. Legolas was inclined to agree with Herendil, since he too could feel the shadows closing in. 

"Hail Theoden, son of Thengel! I have returned, but the hospitality of your hall seems to have waned of late." Gandalf said, as they approached the figure that sat upon a golden chair at the end of the hall. Herendil's eyes narrowed as he watched a pale, corpse-like man lean forward and whisper something into Theoden's ear.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" Theoden replied, in a dry, hollow voice.

"You speak justly, lord." The pale man said, earning himself a cold look from Herendil. Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance, then looked back at Herendil. They had never seen him look so coldly at another, but, then again, they had only known him for a few hours, at best. They listened as words were exchanged between Gandalf and the pale man known as Wormtongue.

"The wise speak only what they know. I did not come here to exchange insults with the likes of you! Therefore, be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not come through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving man till lightning falls." Gandalf said, with cold anger in his voice.

"Nor did I emerge from death's slumber to listen to you bring down those of higher esteem than you." Herendil added, his eyes burning with barely contained anger, clenching and unclenching his hands as he stood there alongside Gandalf. The other three (namely Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli) could only watch as Gandalf straightened, and started walking towards the throne. The men who stood guard within the hall then attacked them. With relative ease, Herendil turned and lightly cuffed one soldier over the head who had gotten too close for his own good, then stood at Legolas and Gimli's side and to Aragorn's left as they took on more men. Still Gandalf approached the chair where Theoden sat, his stride filled with purpose.

"I free you, Theoden, son of Thengel, from this darkness!" Gandalf said, receiving only a cruel chuckle in response.

"You have no power, Gandalf the Grey!" Theoden cackled, mockingly. Then, before he could say anything more, Gandalf cast aside the tattered grey cloak, and revealed the pure white robes that lay underneath. Then he thrust his staff into Theoden's face, and Theoden flinched as though he'd been hit.

"Did I not council you, lord, to forbid his staff? That fool Hama has betrayed us!" Wormtongue shouted, before a brilliant flash of light silenced him. For the moment, anyway.

"Leave him, Saruman!" Gandalf demanded, eyes flashing as he figured out just what was going on.

"If I leave him, Gandalf, then Theoden will die." Saruman's voice said, through Theoden. Gandalf's expression darkened.

"Don't you dare hurt him, Saruman! Leave him and do no more harm!" Gandalf said, darkly, as he thrust his staff towards Theoden again, forcing a powerful amount of magic into the Lord of the Mark. Herendil, his companions, and the men of Rohan, watched as the shadows in the hall and the eerie light in Theoden's eyes disappeared, like so many bad dreams. Out of those shadows, unnoticed until then, a woman rushed over to the throne and looked into the eyes of the king.

"I know this face………….Eowyn?" Theoden asked, his voice once again issuing forth from his lips. Herendil smiled in relief, glad that the oppressive shadow was gone from the Golden Hall.

"Dark have my dreams been of late." Theoden murmured, as Gandalf helped him to his feet. Out of ancient habit, Herendil got to the king's left hand side, and, together, elf and wizard knocked on the huge door and cried, "Open, the Lord of the Mark comes forth!" From where he stood, Legolas watched as Herendil changed from uncertain elf to confident warrior all in a moment in time. 

"_This was what Herendil needed in order to adjust to this time. A moment of despair changed into a moment of hope._" Legolas thought, shaking himself from his thoughts when orders were given, and Eowyn brushed past him, obeying the command she'd been handed from Gandalf. Herendil watched as the weight of years literally lifted themselves from the bent shoulders of Theoden.

"Gandalf, who is this? His armor is ancient, as he no doubt is. But it doesn't belong in this time of sorrow." Theoden said, taking notice of Herendil for the first time.

"Milord, my name is Herendil." Herendil said, gently, hoping he wouldn't scare the fragile looking man to death. Theoden gazed at him in wonder and disbelief.

"Had you been dressed any other way, I would have said that you were lying; but you are dressed as the old stories say. How could this be? How is it that you are standing here, of all places, and of all times?" Theoden asked, as he grasped Herendil's arm as though to reassure himself that the elf in front of him was real.

"I know not, Milord. It was the will of the Valar that sent me back, I suppose. I cannot begin to understand their minds." Herendil said, his voice soft and solemn. Theoden looked a moment more into Herendil's sky blue eyes, then looked away, his own gaze filling with sorrow.

"Would that the same thing could have happened to my son. Alas, that these evil days are mine, and should come in my old age instead of the peace I have earned. No parent should ever have to bury his child." Theoden said, as bitter tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, wringing his hands in helpless frustration as he did so.

"Your fingers will better remember their strength if they grasped a sword hilt." Gandalf advised, ever mindful of the old king's grief. Theoden looked up and nodded, then felt his side for his sword. But no sword hung there.

"Where has Grima put it?" Theoden asked, as a little frustration entered his voice.

"Take this, dear lord! It has ever been at your service!" Eomer said, as he strode forward and offered the hilt of his sword to the Lord of the Mark. Sensing that he wasn't needed at the moment, Herendil walked a little ways, then stood and watched, his eyes becoming distant as he remembered ancient memories of King Gil-galad, and the way those under him had looked with respect at him. 

"_Those days are gone, and they are never coming back. I had lost much in the Battle of Barad-Dur, including my own life. Yet I have gained as well. I have new comrades, and a new chance to fight against the evil that had taken me from the life I had known. I will do what I can to make the best of my second chance._" Herendil thought, as he watched the Lord of the Mark regain his strength, allowing a moment of grim pleasure when Wormtongue was brought before the restored King Theoden.

Author's Note!

Westu Theoden hal! As a lot of you can already tell, most of the dialogue came from the book, _The Two Towers_. I have tried to keep from copying all of it word for word, and some of the dialogue is from the movie. Hope this chapter was all right!

Gemini


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